The Trials
by RandyGiles20
Summary: Spike has endured all of the physical Demon Trials to win back his soul, exhausted and in agony he waits for his prize... but the Trials are not over yet. He has proven he has the bravery and brawn to accommodate a soul, but does he have the moral strength and empathy to house it without it destroying his mind? We shall see...
1. The Cave

**The Cave**

 _Spike was cold. That statement, he was aware, was strange in itself. He was a cold creature- both physically and emotionally. He very, very rarely could complain that he was cold because a cold environment didn't affect him, his body was cold and therefore he could withstand it. But this cave was cold, and he was cold on the damp rocky floor. He had forgotten how low the temperature could drop in Africa when the sun disappeared for the evening. Instantaneous darkness and creeping cold across the dry, dusty plains._

 _He could feel Lloyd there, his breathing was very soft and silent for such a monstrous demon but he had a presence about him. Power rippled off his armoured skin in beating waves. Spike could feel him watching from the dark._

 _He was not sure how long he had lain there on the ground. When those bastard beetles had all disappeared, either through his destructive means or because they had scuttled off to their hellish little holes, he had lain on the wet, cold ground and rested, exhausted and in agony as his open wounds ached and started to heal over._

 _His head ached the most; there was a sharp stabbing in the base of his skill where his neck curved to the back of his cranium. It was a different to pain to the one caused by the chip. That set off a ringing throb throughout all the corners of his head; it was a painful jolt that seeped away fairly quickly. This pain was growing, worse and worse, sharper and sharper, as if something inside were burrowing away._

 _'_ _You're done then, vampire.' Lloyd's gravelly demonic boom reached Spike, it echoed throughout the cave._

 _Spike swallowed hard, his mouth was as dry as the African dirt. What did he mean by done? Did he mean finished? As in the trials were over and he could skip merrily away with his well-earned prize and give Buffy what she deserved, finally? Or did he mean done, dying, finished, unworthy? Dead._

 _It took a vast percentage of Spike's remaining strength to prop himself up on one elbow to look at the demon in the darkness, his luminous green eyes shone out like diseased firefly's._

 _'_ _H-hardly' he panted, looking quite pathetic as he struggled to get to his knees, panting pointlessly as his lungs didn't need the oxygen. It was a human habit that was very difficult to break. What he needed was blood. Hot, furiously pumping blood in his belly. That would solve everything, just a taste and he could be revived. His papery tongue lapped his dry, cracked lips as he thought about it- but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. He needed to stay focussed on the task at hand- the rewards would come later._

 _'_ _Walk in the bloody park' Spike mumbled as he staggered to his feet, hands help onto the wall for support. He tried to look over his injuries but the darkness in the cave made that impossible, he could feel various gouges and holes all over his bare arms and chest where the beetles had chomped through his flesh- nasty little bastards._

 _'_ _What's next then eh? Who've you got next in line for me to do in? Let's add another to the pile' he was swaying slightly, the wet floor sliding strangely under his bare feet. Blood from the wound on his eyebrow was dripping furtively into his eye and the sting made him woozy. He wiped it away haphazardly, spreading it through his platinum hair giving it a ridiculous red streak. He couldn't remember the last time he was so exhausted after a fight, if anything came close it was when that Bitch, Glory, had him strung up and tortured for hours on end._

 _Spike watched Lloyd's eyes survey him, unblinking, he seemed to be waiting._

 _The pain in Spike's head was increasing, the sharp splints of hurt were becoming harder and harder to ignore like his other wounds. This was getting worse. It suddenly drove him to a new peak of agony and he let out a bone-splintering cry, his knees smashed into the wet rock floor and his fingers clawed the back of his head. Something was in there; he could feel it eating through his brain. He let out another agonised wail as the pain continued to rise, like a great wave rushing to the shore, waiting to break over the land and destroy everything in its path._

 _Lloyd stepped forward, waiting for a break in the screams to speak._

 _'_ _Another trial' he growled 'not a test of brawn of skill in battle- but a test of character. Are you… man enough… to withstand the next phase'_

 _The pain spilled away momentarily and Spike turned to jelly, falling without bracing himself into the wet stone. His eyes rolled slightly as he recovered from the flesh splitting agony of whatever was in his head, he tried to ask what it was but couldn't form the words- nevertheless Lloyd answered him._

 _'_ _The Pylean Scarab Beatles from the last trial' he said, no emotion in his tone, just the gravely matter-of-fact voice._

 _'_ _You fought off the Scarabs, well, the majority of them. You missed one however, and this missed Scarab forms the next trial. The Scarab will have eaten its way through the base of your neck while you were distracted with the others and then burrowed its way through to your temporal lobe'_

 _Spike screamed once again on the floor, his arms and legs seemed to be paralysed, but this did not stop the muscles in his neck and back bulging out in strain, the dead veins protruded grotesquely as he tried to fight the agony that ripped through his head. Lloyd waited for him to stop before continuing._

 _'_ _The Pylean Scarab will force you to relive memories that have been buried away out of sight; or they might be painful, shameful memories. Your task is to re-live them, and change them if you can. But I warn you… if you dwell too long on one memory, you run the risk of staying trapped inside it forever. You will be unable to escape the memory and will spend the rest of your days rotting in this cave'_

 _A single tear formed in the corner of Spike's eye as his cheek rested on the cold floor. It filled his eyelid and spilled unashamedly down his face and collected in the already wet stone beneath him. He could not speak, he could not move, the pain began to build again, he scrunched his face and growled as it washed over him._


	2. The Boy, the Pony and the Trap

**The Boy, the Pony and the Trap**

The pain stopped suddenly and his eyes surged open. Sunlight singed through his vision and he held his arms up protectively, afraid he would burst into flames at any second. However, there was no smoke, no flames. He opened his eyes and saw the tan colour of his jacket sleeve; he glanced down at very, very young hands. He wore small, black lace up boots, knee high light socks, cut off high waist trousers, the same light colour as his jacket. A white shirt, and tan waistcoat.

'Bloody hell' he whispered under his breath, a childish, high-pitched whisper left his lips. He was a boy again, no more than six or seven. This was his old street; his old house was further down the road. It had been so long since he had thought of this life, but he recognised it instantly.

The sun dipped behind a cloud, he looked up and around him, seeing a sight that had not crossed his mind for a hundred years. There was a line of grand old houses, smoke spilled prettily from each bricked chimney top, the windows of each house were framed by expensive lace or light velvet.

There were people walking. Ladies in layered frilly dresses and white parasols, gentleman with pipes and top hats. There were women in aprons pushing prams and horses and carts trotting either side of the dusty, paved road.

It was busier than he remembered, though when he was a boy he took no notice of things around him, he only wanted to run and play, or read by himself when he did not fancy running or playing. He rarely had anyone to play with anyway.

As the lonely thought crossed his mind, a voice rang out from in front of him 'Come along Willie!' The lad was slightly taller than him and his hair and eyes were very dark. He held a long stick in one hand and was whipping the base of a Gas lamp while he shouted. Spike knew the face, but he could not recall the name. He must have been an old play mate, or the son of someone in the street. As he thought about it, a swirling pit of dread began to spit in his stomach.

'What's holding you up old boy?' the young lad called 'Throw the hoop!'

Spike looked down at his other hand and realised he was holding a large wooden hoop, a warm wash of nostalgia splashed through his veins, for in this time he had blood, his own young hot blood pumping through them. He had only just registered the memory of what it was like to have a heartbeat and breathe in the mostly fresh London air!

'Come on Willie! Afraid I'll *take the egg again?' he laughed and waved his stick at him.

Spike smiled and started to run, he rolled the hoop along the floor beside him, kept it rolling and then pushed it towards the other boy; he still could not remember his name.

His moment of sweet nostalgia suddenly turned very bitter, and he could feel his heart hammering like a death knell in his throat. Something was not right, something was about to happen, something terrible. A pony and trap passed him, it mounted the curb slightly and a huge green cabbage was slung out and began to hurtle along the path behind the other boy.

He stopped to watch the boy hit the hoop with his stick; he was running so fast, the hoop in tow, the sharp clack-clacking of the stick against the hoop seemed to go along with Spike's thundering heart.

He remembered now, he remembered watching as the pony and trap that ran alongside the boy suddenly careered across the road because the pony was startled by the thwacking stick. It ran into the path of a horse and fine carriage, the driver pulled the reins of the horse to avoid the pony, the horse squealed and ran across the road, avoiding the pony, which whinnied in terror and ran straight at the boy, he didn't even see it coming, he was so focussed on shunting the hoop along the road. The horse smashed into him, and the carriage followed, crushing him and the horse against the wall. There was a great explosion of blood which peppered and dripped down the crisp, white wall behind them.

A bloodied hoop rolled around the wreckage and circled its way back to Spike's feet.

William the adult would have been slightly shaken. Spike the vampire would have desperately tried to lap up the blood, unaffected by the gore and carnage, he would have relished in it, in fact. Little Willie however was so shaken that he promptly curled over and vomited all over the path. A swarm of people surrounded the scene, some women had passed out and younger children were crying hysterically. Little Willie just knelt in the pool of his own vomit and stared, paralysed at the scene.

He felt it was his fault, he pushed the hoop and the boy had shunted it forward, it was their little game and he had caused him to be in the way of the wayward horse and carriage.

It was his fault.

'Come along Willie!' the young lad shouted again, Spike looked all round and the street was back to normal, the people all bustling and talking as they did before the crash.

'Oh God' Spike hushed in little Willies voice 'I'm in a sodding time loop' he understood now. Lloyd had said he would re-live some of his worst memories. This was certainly one of the worst from his human years. He had blamed himself for what had happened for years afterwards, maybe even until Drusilla had found him sobbing in that ally and sired him. He had read about such time loops, usually the person experiencing the loop had to change the scenario to escape it. Even if he hadn't read about it… that's what they had to do in Quantum Leap! He would have to change it somehow; the young lad would have to survive.

'What's holding you up old boy?' the young lad called again 'Throw the hoop!'

Spike looked down at the hoop, what if he didn't throw it at all? If he didn't throw it the boy wouldn't chase it and wouldn't run into the path of the bolted horse.

'No' he said quietly, thinking of his excuse and the old language that seemed so foreign to him now 'I'm suddenly *not feeling up to Dick, actually, feeling a bit ill' he stood stock still, the hoop held firmly in his little hand.

'Ah Willie you're such a *stuffed bird!' the boy yelled and thwacked his stick violently against the gas lamp.

Spike saw the pony and trap thunder past him, saw the wheels mount the curb slightly and saw that random rogue cabbage fly out.

'Yes' he whispered under his breath, the young lad was still; he wouldn't get hit by the horse. But just as the thought crossed his mind the lad suddenly squealed with delight and began chasing the rolling cabbage down the street instead, hitting it violently with his stick, bits of cabbage flew off and trailed behind him.

The pony shrieked and catered off towards the horse.

The horse squealed and ran across the road.

Boy and horse smashed into the wall and the wave of splattering blood followed.

A crushed, bloody cabbage was strewn across the path.

'Oh bloody hell!' Spike shouted in young Willies voice.

'Come along Willie!' the young lad shouted again.

'Bleedin' 'ell!' Little Willie shouted in a cockney accent not at all like his refined and polished upper class tittering. The young lad looked at him quizzically and frowned. Spike was losing his temper now.

'Look mate, I'm starting to think that you're gonna get bloody cream crackered no matter what I do! So let's do this again, and this time, _**I'll**_ chase the bloody hoop! Alrigh'?' The young lad's mouth dropped open and he nodded his head stupidly.

Willie ran forwards with the hoop and as he passed the boy he snatched the stick out of his hand and smashed the hoop along, so fast, faster than he had ever done it before. He was trying to beat the pony and trap so he could get ahead of it. If he did not startle it then maybe it would not bolt across the road. He heard the trap's wheels hit the curb behind him; he knew it was getting closer. He ran as fast as his young, little legs would carry him, and in the corner of his eye, he saw the pony coming close, closer and closer, and then… it veered to the right, around a corner and on its merry way.

He had stopped it, he had outrun the pony and trap and the young lad would be safe now.

He panted heavily and caught the hoop, a huge smile beamed across his face. He turned and saw the young lad clapping and whooping gaily, cheering him on!

The young lad ran towards him, he did not see that random rogue cabbage on the floor, his boot slipped over it, he fell awkwardly towards the road, his neck snapped against the curb and his arms and legs were instantly floppy and lifeless.

'That soddin' cabbage' Young Willie whispered, exasperated!

A crowd formed around the dead boy in the street, Willie threw the hoop on the ground, it bounded away, and then he snapped the stick over his knee. He looked at the sky and shouted, ignoring the strange looks he got from the people around him.

'Alrigh'! I get it! I felt guilty about this for the rest of my human life. I thought it was my fault that this little boy died like that. But it was his time, right? It must have been his time. Nothing I do is going to make a blind bit of difference is it!' he shouted at the clouds 'So I get it, when I was human I had a soul and that soul was plagued with guilt about this day- it haunted me until I died. Having a soul will bring these memories back and I'll suffer the guilt until I turn to ashes and dust! But this one was not my fault… this memory is one I can let go of now'.

There was a rushing of wind around him, the street blurred and shifted. The sound of wind and fluttering swarmed around his head like a cloud of bees. He watched himself change. He grew bigger, his tan sleeves turned to black leather, the young hands grew seasoned and the nails were chipped with black polish. The dusty pavement turned to grated, rickety metal, the people and the sunlight disappeared and in their place was Dawn, sobbing quietly in her black, velvet robes and the Doc was hovering around her, lizard eyes darting grotesquely between her and the large blade he held in his hand.

 _ **Victorian Slang**_

 _ ***Take the egg – to win at a game.**_

 _ ***Not feeling up to Dick – feel ill or not yourself**_

 _ ***Stuffed bird – to be silly or preposterous**_


	3. The Night she Died (Part I)

_**Note to readers: The quotes in italics are lines borrowed from Season 5's 'The Gift' (29th March 2001, written by Joss Whedon) I hope you're enjoying the story!**_

Time stood still. Time stood perfectly still, but Spike's mind suddenly exploded like the night sky on New Year's Eve by Big Ben.

This night.

He couldn't re-live this night.

This was the most harrowing, painful, raw, eviscerating night of his existence – and he had witnessed so much pain in his lifetime, so much torment and torture.

This night was his torture.

Watching the events unfurl on the ground, watching as Buffy launched herself off the rickety platform and flew, like an angel, through the swirling Hell dimension. Watching her face writhe and twist in agony as the hellish bolts of energy ripped through her body. Watching her fall from the sky, like a feather, full of such grace and beauty and then slam violently into an abandoned pile of wooden pallets. Still, lifeless, but serene. Her lips moulded into a very small, accomplished smile, her hair splayed out around her head like a golden halo.

She was beauty.

He thought he had experienced heartbreak. When he was alive, it was the rejection of Cecily Underwood, when he was dead, it was Drusilla leaving him. But those were not heartbreaks. They might have been heart fissures, heart fractures. They healed quite easily and although never really forgotten they became barely visible silvery scars on his psyche.

But this.

Watching Buffy in her final moment and seeing her dead in the rubble. That was heartbreak. He wanted to claw his heart out, he wanted to rip his eyes out to stop the sobbing, he wanted to peel his skin away- anything to stop the thunderous aching chasm in his chest which threatened to burst him open and explode him into a million pieces over and over again.

This was hell.

This was hell because he had failed her. He had failed Buffy. He had made a promise, a solemn vow, which he failed to uphold- and he didn't even die trying.

 _'_ _I'm counting on you, Spike. To help protect her'_

That was her expectation, her mission for him.

'Til the end of the world' Spike whispered to himself 'even if  
that happens to be tonight'.

He recalled his answer so clearly- he should have died trying to save her. But he couldn't fight back. He knew he should have tried harder, should have poured all of his strength into his fight against The Doc. However, he was a slippery serpent and he got the best of him. He threw him over the platform like he was no more than a handful of trash.

He tried to remain focussed, standing on the rickety platform with Dawn tethered to the end in her dark robes- they made her look so much older than she was. She looked like a dressed up dolly from a gothic horror. Once upon a time Spike would have fancied that. Drusilla might have sported that dark velvet gown and he would have salivated with lust. This turned his stomach- this twisted his insides up. Seeing his Little Bit tied by the wrists, weeping, helpless, hopeless – he was overcome with horror at the prospect of losing her.

He would really try this time- he would really try to help her.

There was a gleam of silvery light that shone in his eyes as The Doc held up the knife, ready to begin the ritual that Glory was late for.

 _'_ _What do you know?'_ he says sweetly in his old man's voice, he pulls out an old pocket watch and looks at it with a gleeful smile _'Just about that time'_. He might have been referring to an afternoon pot of tea from his relaxed and dainty tone.

Dawn's wet eyes widen in fear, and then soften slightly as she looked upon Spike. She looked so hopeful suddenly, she knew he could defeat anything; he had come to save her. That look was harrowing now for Spike to see- he was so cocky at the time, so confident in his own abilities to overpower this tired old man.

He knew that now.

He would not make the same errors again.

 ** _'_** ** _SPIKE!'_** Dawn screamed, it sent shivers over his flesh.

 _'_ _Doesn't a fella stay dead when you kill 'im?_ ' Spike bantered.

 _'_ _Look who's talking?'_ The Doc countered.

 _'_ _C'mon Doc. Let's you an' me 'av a go?'_ he was playing the part, reciting the lines. He had gone over this night so many times in his head, he could win a bloody BAFTA for it! But he was about to change the scene- he knew all of The Doc's moves- he just had to improvise and avoid them.

 _'_ _I do have a prior appointment…'_ The Doc glanced longingly at the knife grasped lightly between his deft fingers.

 _'_ _This won't take long'_ Spike said.

 _'_ _No'_ The Doc smirked _'I don't imagine it will'_

In reality, Spike had charged, assuming he could grab the old man and launch him over the edge of the platform, untie Dawn, carry her down the endless steps and hand her to Buffy. He would have saved the day. Saved the world. However, The Doc was slippery. He had sidestepped Spike and plunged the blade into his back, into his spine. The agony of it still tingled when he thought about it.

This time, Spike feigned the charge. He took one-half step forward to trick The Doc, and it worked! The Doc swiftly side stepped but Spike was ready, he turned to face him, he wrapped his hand around the wrist holding the knife, he crushed it with all his might and the knife clattered to the grated metal floor, he tilted his head back and jutted it forward, smashing the old man in the face, breaking his nose- a slew of lumpy green fluid dripped from his nostrils. The Doc seemed winded by the sudden attack and Spike felt a fleeting rush of triumph- but then he remembered the long, lethal tail.

It then all happened so quickly! His heightened vampire senses heard the whisper of serpent scales against the grated metal, he felt the air ripple as the tail whipped up out of nowhere and he heard a sick tearing sound as the end of the tail hit his head. He saw the tail in slow motion, so quick, so sharp, bladelike in its thinness. He felt a slight pain in his neck, nothing serious, a minor sting. His hands that still clutched the front of The Doc's shirt lost all strength and disintegrated, he heard Dawn wail with a mixture of hurt, sorrow and disappointment, and then there was nothing. A strong gust of wind blew his dusted form away in a swirl of nothingness after The Doc's tapered, sharp tail had sliced his head off.

'Oh God!' Spike shouted, clutching his neck stupidly. Time had looped, and he was back on the platform again. Dawn weeping at the end of it, The Doc wielding the knife in front of her. However, this time The Doc had heard Spike's exclamation and turned to look at him.

 ** _'_** ** _SPIKE!'_** Dawn screamed desperately.

'Oh my' Said Doc, slightly startled 'we're not fit for company' his eyelids closed from the sides of his eyes and his serpentine tongue caressed his bottom lip.

 _'_ _You-You don't come near the girl, Doc'_ Spike said weakly- trying to re-evaluate his methods, trying to think of a different strategy.

 _'_ _I don't smell a soul anywhere on you…. Why do you even care?'_ The Doc asked, brow furrowing slightly.

Spike looked at Dawn, his eyes burning into hers, trying to convey a message. _Buffy loves you Dawn, Buffy will save you Dawn._

 _'_ _I made a promise to a Lady'_ he answered.

 _'_ _Well'_ The Doc smiled _'I'll send the Lady your regrets'_ he smirked horribly and then opened his mouth.

The serpent tongue snapped out towards Spike, he quickly dodged it and rolled forwards. He stopped in a crouch and then sprung up, landing a swift uppercut to The Doc's chin. The old man stumbled back, so close to the edge, but gained his balance quickly and sneered nastily at Spike.

'This isn't right' the old man said 'This isn't how it's supposed to happen…'

This took Spike by surprise! Did the old reptile now this was all in Spike's head?

'You're trying to change it' he hissed 'I won't let you!' he launched his tongue out once again; Spike narrowly avoided it as it came at him, but the old lizard got him when the tongue retracted back. The end smashed Spike on the back of the head as it zipped back into The Doc's mouth. Spike was thrown forwards towards Dawn's bare feet, the blow to his head made the world turn on _its_ head. He lay face down, his eyes dazed and scanning the world below him. He could see Glory being pummelled by Buffy and the borrowed Troll hammer.

 _Get back up,_ he told himself, _get back up and fulfil your promise you wanker_.

He got shakily to his knees, he held onto a fistful of Dawn's dark robes to steady himself. He looked up at her white, shining face.

'Oh, Spike' she hushed. It was a defeated whisper, a kind whisper, to let him know she was thankful he had tried.

'The Vampire who could love' The Doc chuckled, breathy and low 'How lovely… like a little girl's story book'

Spike turned his head to glare at him, the blow to his head was immense, the pain blossomed out in waves. He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, standing his ground between Dawn and The Doc.

'I- won't let you- come near her- Doc' Spike stammered, the pain so intense, pooling through his head like hot water.

'Uh huh' The Doc said and threw the blade, Spike saw a sudden glimmer of reflected light as it span at him and buried itself deep in his pale blue eye. Dawn's scream pierced his ears just as the overwhelming agony of the blade pierced his resolve. He crumpled to the floor, incoherent and writhing in pain. Nothing was real, reality stretched and twisted itself out of shape as the pain washed over his violently tremoring body.

Some small part of his brain registered feet walking towards him, The Doc pulled out another blade, said something like 'That wasn't my favourite knife anyway' and kicked Spike roughly off of the grated platform.

As Spike plunged to the ground he had a second to think _next time, next time I'll try, I'll really try._

He smashed to the floor with a wet crack, so many bones had broken in that fall and an iron bar had impaled his thigh. He thought the agony could not have been greater than a blade to the eye… how wrong he was.


	4. The Night she Died (Part II)

He looped back again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing he did seemed to make a difference. The Doc always bested him, always knocked him over the edge or whipped his head off, another time he had pulled a pencil from his inside pocket and staked him through the heart.

What could he do?

Lloyd's warning had started to echo in Spike's mind ' _if you dwell too long on one memory, you run the risk of staying trapped inside it forever'._ He couldn't stay in this hell forever, what could he do?

What must he do?

 _What must I do?_

 _Must._

Clarity suddenly came. It was like someone had flicked on the right switch in his brain, it lit up the answer so clearly.

It was not something he could do, or should do. It was something he _must_ do. Something that was much, much bigger than a single promise to the lady he loved with all of his being. He was starting to figure it out now- the key to these little memories. It had been so long since he owned a soul he had completely forgotten what it entailed.

Acceptance- he could accept that he did not kill the young boy, he got trampled by a horse and crushed to death and although he felt overwhelming guilt it was not his fault.

Sacrifice- he would need to make a huge sacrifice now in order to break through this loop, this memory that burned inside him.

He knew what he had to do.

 ** _'_** ** _SPIKE!'_** Dawn cried for the last time.

The Doc turned, surprised 'Back again?' he smiled. He was recognising these loops now, and he rejoiced in the fact that Spike could not crack them to escape.

'I won't let you hurt her' Spike said, cutting the banter, cutting the dressage. He knew what to do now, and he knew it would hurt; he did not want to draw it out any longer than it needed to.

'Mmh, sure' The Doc replied, he smiled, that serpent tongue wetting his dry old lips he shot the tongue out towards Spike. Spike had done this enough times now, he knew the movements, knew what to avoid and how to attack. He ducked his head out of the way of the tongue but caught the end of it tight in his hand, he jerked the tongue violently and The Doc, shocked and in pain, was suddenly pulled forward. He made a sickening _gluk_ sound in his throat as he lost his balance and fell to the floor. Spike still held the long tongue, though it was frantically trying to retract back into its owner's mouth, he lifted his boot and stamped on it as hard as he could. The Doc let out a sickening, wet wail.

The tongue snapped out of Spike's clenched fist and slid back into it's Master's throat, the old man tried to get to his feet, he was significantly slower and less agile than before.

He scrambled around for the knife, which he had dropped. Spike ran at him, he kicked him squarely in the face, there was a loud crunch and the old man screamed. Spike grabbed the blade while the old reptile recovered from his broken jaw. He saw the scaly tail begin to protrude from within the old man's coat. He ducked out of its way as it whipped up to his head.

He jumped over The Doc, knowing full well he had no time to cut Dawn free and escape with her, he would have recovered by then and would kill Spike in a heartbeat. He sensed rather than saw the tail zooming his way. It caused a slight ripple in the air, it sliced his back, it made him stumble, thankfully it was a shallow cut- the leather jacket had taken most of the hit. He heard it coming again, this time he would stop it, he spun himself around, his vampire eyes picked up the destination of the sharp, tapered tail, as he spun he brought the knife up with him, the blade cut easily through the thick, scaly girth of the serpentine appendage.

The Doc screamed in pain, Spike landed on his feet before Dawn, he quickly sliced through both ropes that tethered her wrists to the rickety railings of the metal platform. When he had finished the knife clattered to the floor and bounced off of the edge of the platform, lost to oblivion.

She wrapped her arms around his neck; he spun her around and held her very close as she let out a relieved sob.

'Oh, Spike' she hushed, pouring the rest of her emotional energy into her thankfulness to him.

'I've got you Little Bit' he whispered into her hair. But he knew it was not over, his lip began to tremble slightly, and though he tried with all his might, he could not stop the tears welling in his pale blue eyes.

Spike stiffened as he watched The Doc get to his feet, his scaly tail whipping behind him, the green bloodied stump had grown back instantly and he had such wrath in his serpentine eyes. He pulled the second blade from beneath his coat and charged towards them. It would have lasted a fraction of a second- but to Spike it played out like a lifetime.

'Dawnie' Spike hushed into her hair, tears spilling into her long brown locks 'Dawnie… forgive me'

He stepped over the edge of the platform, Dawn still wrapped in his arms. She let out a silent scream and clutched onto him, her fingers digging ruthlessly into his back.

Giles' words came to Spike as the wind rushed past them while they fell towards the ground _"The blood flows, the gates will open. The gates will close when it flows no more. When Dawn is dead"_

Giles understood the risk. He understood that in order to save the world, one young life might need to be taken. It was a horrific sacrifice- and Buffy would never be able to make that sacrifice.

But Spike could.

He was a soulless, evil, monster. He would have no problem killing a girl, it would be easy, enjoyable… but his tears flowed freely as he wrapped his arms around Dawn tightly, squeezing the life out of her as they fell through the hellish abyss between wobbling scaffold and hard ground.

He had expected the chip in his brain to fire out agonising waves of pain as he hurt her, his intentions were as clear as the newly breaking dawn which was starting to spread its orange fingers across the horizon. But the pain did not come, he wasn't sure why. Maybe because this was not really real and was happening in his head, or maybe because at that very moment, Dawn was not really human- she was the mystical key, a bright green ball of beautiful energy trapped in the flesh of a little girl.

He felt Dawn's fingers claw wildly as she struggled for breath. Heard her desperate gluks and clicks as she tried to suck sweet oxygen into her lungs.

She arched her back, trying to escape. But Spike squeezed harder, and harder and harder.

There was a sickening, wet crack as her spine snapped, and finally she lay still, floppy and lifeless.

She couldn't open the portal now, it was done, she was done, he was done.

The ground took him by surprise.

Spike's back smashed onto the concrete floor. It felt like every bone in his body had splintered, the agony in every molecule was immense but still he held Dawn close to his chest, hands in her long chestnut hair, he could smell that blood was dribbling from her nostrils

'DAAAAWN!' He heard Buffy scream.

Spike closed his eyes as sobs wracked his broken body, he held Dawn close until Buffy clawed her away. She stared at her sister with horrified eyes, the whites of them were so bright, so haunted. Spike didn't want to look at such raw and vulnerable grief.

Buffy lay Dawn down, gently, sweeping her hair out of her face, she brushed the pad of her thumb over her nose to wipe away the blood.

'What… did you do?' her voice was a gruff, pained snarl.

Spike coughed up blood and swallowed tears.

'I had to- there was- no other- way' he struggled, he was sure his ribs had impaled his lungs.

'You killed her?' Buffy asked tears had filled her eyes but they didn't spill down her face. He had never seen her so angry, so wild.

'I'm sorry' Spike whispered.

Buffy glared at him, numbed and dazed, she grabbed the Troll hammer that she was using to pummel Glory- where was Glory?

It didn't matter now; she couldn't open up the dimensions to get home.

She was stuck here- like all of them.

Buffy got to her feet, giant silver hammer held loosely in her grasp, she stumbled towards Spike and lifted the hammer above her head, staring at him like a wounded animal. Her arms started to tremble, but not with the weight of the hammer.

'It's—alright, pet' he hushed, his teeth pink with blood 'It's—alright. Kill me'

He was ready, he had had enough of this memory, of this world, she would smash his head in and that would be the end of it.

Buffy's face scrunched as she held back her tears, her arms shook violently, and she threw herself forward to propel the hammer down at Spike's face. He had closed his eyes, ready for the impact.

The hammer hit the concrete by his head, it left a crater and bits of sharp rock flew out around him. His eyes snapped open and he stared at her, shocked and grieved. Tears filled his eyes, tears filled her eyes, and together they began to let the grief spill out.

The tears blurred his eyes, hazed his vision, the world was changing and shifting and seemed to cloud with moving fog.

The rickety scaffold looked more like trees and the hard concrete felt more like dewy grass and the general darkness turned bright and green as he found himself in another old memory.


End file.
